Is It Paranoid In Here Or Is It Just Me?
by licorice factory
Summary: Alfred has a secret admirer...who irritates the living daylights out of him. Russia/America
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Much like my cat, love is blind. Um, I guess all I can say is that this is what some people have to go through. I'm glad I wasn't born one of them. I'm new to the idea of this pairing so go easy on me when it comes to feedback. But please R&R if you would.

Enjoy.

* * *

**Prologue**

* * *

_America,_

_Although you have a lovely speaking voice which tickles my ears and warms my cheeks like no other, you tend to spit a lot. Please make a conscious effort to keep your fluid in your mouth. Thank you._

_Sincerely,_

_Appreciated

* * *

_

Canada peered curiously over his brother's shoulder at the paper in his hand, indigo eyes skimming the brief words written down in smooth handwriting. He blinked curiously when taking in the advice and tilted his head to gauge his brother's reaction. Alfred just stared blankly down at the small note, the other mail in hand from his cubby. It was almost like the words weren't sinking in.

He spit?

He spit when he talked?

That was absurd. His mouth was perfect which meant that he didn't drool like an infant needing a bib. A smile toyed at Alfred's lips as he turned to his brother, paper crumpling in his tightening fist. The perplexity didn't leave Canada's eyes when seeing the smile resume on Alfred's face, this one much different than the one before. This one looked slightly more forced. "Give me a break. Someone's leaving joke mail around again," Alfred said, dropping the crumpled note to the ground and stepped over it. "Wanna get something to eat?" he asked nonchalantly and gave a hardy pat to Canada's shoulder.

The Canadian stumbled at the force before catching himself, turning around and following after his twin. He pulled at his bear to keep him balanced in his arms and tried to keep a steady pace with Alfred's long strides. "What was that about?" he asked, voice laced with hesitant timidness that could never seem to be shaken from his vocal chords.

"Nothing," replied Alfred without skipping a beat. Canada blinked owlishly up towards him and knew otherwise. Although…Alfred didn't look particularly displeased with the suggestion, he didn't look as eager as he had _before _reaching his mail cubby. Quite frankly, Alfred didn't look that affected, if at all.

"Really? What'd it say?" the Canadian inquired lightly as to not scare his brother off onto a different topic as he was prone to do.

Alfred's smile resumed as he shuffled the different papers under his arm. "Someone thinks I spit," he laughed as if the idea in itself was appalling. He shook his head. What an absurd thought. To think he, Alfred, _America_, would spit when he talked was laughable. Humorous even. Because it wasn't true, of course. How could he spit? He would have noticed if he carried such a disgusting and displeasing habit around with him. Many people would have brought it up before this very moment; there were plenty of opportunities.

Alfred continued to chuckle earnestly. Now when he was eating was a different story, but when _presenting_? He wanted to bend over and slap his knee, the tears starting to come into his eyes. As he moved to wipe it away from under his glasses he caught the awkward, must-look-away-before-Alfred-catches-me-and-sees-exactly-what-I'm-feeling-right-on-my-face look. His laughter died off.

"Mattie?"

Canada grimaced lightly. "Well…" he faded off making Alfred pause and visibly show his confusion. "Sometimes, you know, when you get really excited you tend to…spit a little. But only sometimes! It's not all the time, just when you're excited." The Canadian would have waved his hands in alarm had he not been holding a thirty pound bear.

The gears inside of Alfred's head stuck for a moment before moving at a much slower pace. "Huh?"

Canada averted his gaze. "You kind of sort of definitely spit when you talk…"

Alfred would have went into his fit of hysterics once more had the look that Canada was sporting not been so convincing. He _spit_? Was that even possible? Alfred wasn't even sure if his brain could comprehend such a thing. What was next? Would people start to tell him that he wasn't as smart or handsomely wonderful as he was?

Preposterous.

To hide his sudden shame and slight self-consciousness, Alfred pretended that what his brother had just said didn't bother him, choosing to busy himself with his junk mail instead. "Hm. I'll have to watch that I guess."

Canada chanced a peek towards his taller more obnoxious twin and decided that Alfred wasn't going to go into a rant about how wrong Canada always was. "So what do you say about that meal?" Alfred asked, cheerful façade coming back. Canada thanked the Lord that it was contagious and matched Alfred's dismissing grin with a much tinier one.

"Sure. What are we getting?"

"Burgers."

He should have known.

* * *

_America,_

_I was not sure if you were aware, but after the third portion of the ridiculous PowerPoint you constructed commenced, I noticed that the back of your shirt was untucked when you turned around. Normally I would have informed you of this, but the thought of an unkempt America brought joviality into my chest. It was much too adorable. I thank you for being naturally untidy, for your slipup distracted me from a very uninformative report that would have wasted valuable brain space._

_Sincerely,_

_Amused

* * *

_

Alfred's fingers twitched over the new parchment, still written out with great precision. The letters were perfect cursive in nice, smooth black ink which made him secretly jealous. All he had was chicken scratch. Curiously, he bent around to get a good look at his derrière and found that his shirt was in fact drooped over the back of his suit. Huh. Weird. It must've come undone when he'd went to the bathroom.

Shifting to stare blankly down at the very conflicting letter that made him unsure how to feel about such things being said towards him, Alfred did as he did with the last one. He crumpled it.

What a stupid thing to tell him.

Unfortunately, to Alfred's horrifying surprise, the rate at which these insulting yet complimenting letters arrived in his conference cubby multiplied. Instead of coming in one per meeting like they had the past two times, they were now coming in one per whenever this person felt like it. The next day when Alfred went to see his mail for any announcements, his box was full of strange little letters, each sealed with a sticker of a purple heart on the back.

* * *

_America,_

_Even though you feel that it is important to instruct every person present for this summit the proper way to prepare for a fire, it is quite possibly the most disruptive thing I have ever witnessed. Should there ever be a fire in the building, please let the professionals handle the situation. Nevertheless, seeing you believe you were in control was both fascinating and enjoyable all at once._

_Sincerely,_

_Entertained

* * *

_

_America,_

_Your chair broke this afternoon while you were waiting for everybody in the lobby. The face you made was simply delightful, however, I do not wish for you to be injured over something as frivolous as your weight. Please partake in a healthier diet, for your girth is starting to cause problems for both you and chair manufacturers._

_Sincerely,_

_Looking out for you

* * *

_

_America,_

_I have never noticed before but you seem to have a red mark on your elbow. I am unaware if that is an abnormal skin pigmentation that you were disfigured with from the birthing process or if it was from your chair accident from earlier today. Either way I am concerned. Please get that checked properly by an adequate physician._

_Sincerely,_

_Mildly concerned

* * *

_

A tightening pulled inside of Alfred's throat as he fingered through the bundle of neatly written letters in his hands. He sat with them at the conference table, littered before him like some unwanted, unknown new species of insect; they were repelling and captivating at the same time. He couldn't even…think.

What the hell was this? All of these words were clogging his brain with unneeded thoughts. He was feeling both insulted, flattered, creeped out, and irritated all at once. Who was wasting all of their valuable time writing this nonsense anyway?

"Dobraya Utrah, dear America."

That childlike voice and eerie shadow hovering suddenly over Alfred's head didn't do anything but make his brow furrow further down at the papers. He didn't even have to look up to know that it was that big lummox, Russia.

"Go away. I'm kinda busy right now." As if to prove his point he waved his hand in dismissal. Russia merely giggled and leaned over to get a better look at what Alfred was doing.

"Oh, how admirable. So America too can work hard when he so chooses," announced Russia with ease, voice dripping with mock surprise. Alfred frowned deeper, leaning closer to his mail pile to concentrate more. Russia continued to peer curiously down at the blonde and his papers. "What is it we are looking at?" he inquired earnestly.

"_Shoo_," Alfred stated, getting steadily more annoyed with Russia's distracting presence. For crying out loud he was trying to think of things. Like how whether to settle on feeling personally invaded or full out paranoia. Russia hummed in thought before taking a careful step back, moving to pull the chair out from beside Alfred and take a seat. The action only furthered Alfred's progress to forget completely what he was thinking about.

"It is important to you, da? Perhaps I can assist you, comrade!" Russia chirped, clasping his hands together in petty excitement. The American felt an annoyed growl seeping up from the bottom of his chest. He looked up from his letters for the first time since Russia's arrival and stared at the smiling Russian.

"I'm not your comrade. And you can't help so _shoo_." Again, another wave away. Russia didn't seem fazed by this, instead leaning in to take a good look at what was before his blonde political ally.

"You are throwing a party?" Russia asked and tilted his head.

Alfred didn't quite follow Russia's logic. "Pardon?"

"Such nice paper is only used for important messages such as parties and events. I am so jealous. You will be sending me an invitation as well, I should hope," Russia teased, his cheeks starting to rosy under the unamused gaze he was receiving. He leaned back and fiddled with the fringe of his scarf, nose scrunching up and making his violet eyes curve upwards like crescent moons. "I wish you would not look at me in such a way, America. It distresses me."

Alfred blinked stupidly before shaking his head and turning back to the letters, making sure to fold them up so Russia or anyone else couldn't see the contents inside. They were too…was embarrassing the word he was looking for? Because he wasn't so sure it was.

"I'm not throwing a party," he said and blew an indignant puff of air from his nose.

"No? I was almost certain that that was the case. Why do you have such elegant stationary then?" questioned Russia with unabashed curiosity. It was almost sickening to see someone of his size act so blatantly childish and – and weird. Weirdo.

"They aren't mine." With a huff, Alfred scooped all of the rudely kind letters up and shoved them roughly into his briefcase.

"My, my. You are full of secrets today," giggled the amused Russian. Alfred scowled. What right did he have to be amused about? Here he was taking up his precious space bubble with his big nose and long scarf and fat, stupid…Communism! Yeah, that was it. He was prying into his business when he shouldn't; probably to laugh at him and poke fun at him like he did with all the others. Well Alfred would have the last laugh, so there.

Standing up abruptly Alfred picked up his suitcase and ignored how Russia's perceiving eyes followed him. "Seems that way I guess. It was great talking with you, Russia. Except not really. You kind of just distracted the fuck out of me. But I appreciate your effort to pry into my personal affairs. Can't blame a guy for trying. I'd do the same if I were in your position. Now if you'll excuse me, I should probably get the ball rolling on this whole 'conference' thing."

He didn't even spare the entertained smile Russia gave him the time of day as he made his way towards the front of the room, abandoning any and all hope for trying to gauge the intent behind the letters for today. He'd get around to it later.

Who cared anyway? It wasn't like they were going to occupy his mind for very long.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Oh my heavens! Is this a multi-chaptered story after all? I shant imagine why I would continue such a cliché and basic story. Perhaps it has something to do with my wandering mind. I do not want to keep these thoughts in my head so I will share them.

Enjoy.

* * *

It had been a distraction. A big, fat, _utter _distraction. Alfred couldn't even wrap his mind around it. He'd intended to focus, which, God knew, he was terrible at to begin with, but someone had actually handed him a note during the latter half of his presentation. Yeah. Like, right in the middle of his sentence too. Who _did _that? That was very unprofessional. Who _DID _that?

He had taken it with great suspicion and found his chest squeezing when he flipped it over, a small and ugly little purple heart holding the back together. There was no stopping his eyes darting around the different faces that littered the table. Of course he knew it was someone in the room before, but now. _Now_. It just seemed much different receiving one of those horribly contradicting letters while everyone was still present in one place.

With the whole room looking a bit confused, most likely from the face he was making (which he could only assume looked like someone drowning, wide eyes and gaping mouth and all) and the fact that he'd stopped talking effective immediately, Alfred awkwardly shoved the paper into his pocket without reading it. With an overly fake smile, he'd gone back to his presentation, albeit much slower and lagging in pace. The topic changed as well from something he actually knew what he was talking about to something rather exaggerated and pointless.

At the break for lunch Alfred had sat down and rubbed at his face in exhaustion. Whoo boy… This conference was not going at all how he'd thought it would. Being distracted easily was something Alfred F. Jones was used to. But this – this was ridiculous, even for him!

His fingers played with the edges of the folded paper inside of his coat pocket and he frowned. No doubt that whatever was written on the page would ruffle his feathers in a way that befuddled him. He still hadn't figured out how he should be feeling from the other letters, let alone even _considering _any new ones that would be thrown his way.

Being instantly bereft of his patience, Alfred begrudgingly cracked open the sticker on the back and began reading. To his _utter and complete surprise_ it was the same pointless garbage that was written in the same doting manner as the others.

* * *

_America,_

_I find myself unable to concentrate more so than usual. Normally this would not be a problem since I am used to your senseless discussions. Nonetheless, I believe the source of my restlessness to be your glasses. Yes, what an odd thing to be distracted by, do you not agree? But I simply cannot ignore them today for reasons beyond my grasp. They are atrocious. You have such charming eyes as well. It is a shame to hide them behind such unsightly eyeglasses. Perhaps you should find an alternative to your spectacles which distract allies and mislead others in your appearance to make you appear far more intelligent than what we already know is true._

_Sincerely,_

_Thoughtful_

_Ps – I believe that you may have sat upon something at some point this morning. I hope your suit bottom does not stain for it does wonders for your figure.

* * *

_

Alfred squirmed and twisted around to see that he had in fact sat in something that resembled pudding. Who the _fuck _was eating pudding? He felt his face heating up with a boiling pot of indecipherable emotions at the thought of walking around all morning with a big brown stain on his behind. Fuck. That looked very disingenuous, considering of all places it could have been on, it chose his ass.

He turned around and glared at the letter for pointing such a thing out. Ignorance was bliss, indeed. And yet…he crouched over and squinted to read the finely written font much better.

He had a nice figure? Was that what they were saying?

The American fidgeted and furrowed his eyebrows. What the hell was this? He was going crazy! Why were there so many insults (this letter issue being that he looked like a poindexter) and slightly creepy compliments all thrown into one? How did this person expect him to feel after reading this?

Seeing a few eyes cast towards his direction, Alfred crinkled the letter towards himself in self-contempt. He was feeling an abundance of unneeded paranoia knowing that somebody in this room was either making a fool of him or hoarding some incredibly unacceptable secret and they were too big of a coward to reveal their identity straight to his face. Cowards, cowards…who did he know who was a coward…

Was this France?

Alfred slowly unwound the knots in his muscles and shook his head. No, this was far from the very unnatural way France went about showing affection, most of which included an ungodly amount of rose petals and naked skin. He sighed smoothing the paper out with his hand, ink a smidgen smudged from being forced about so vigorously this morning. If only he'd been paying a little more attention, then he'd have been able to pin a nail in the source of who the culprit could be.

Oh well. Next time. He'd get them next time.

Standing up, Alfred awkwardly tried to pull the back of his jacket to rest over the brown stain and quickly made his way to the restrooms. It was pointless, really. If he had been walking around with this all morning then everyone was sure to have seen it already. But the sudden dawning of his thoughts on the smudge made Alfred feel slightly self-conscious and he hurried to get rid of the problem making him feel such a way.

He pushed open the bathroom doors and turned the water on in the sink. Frowning in annoyance Alfred pulled a bundle of paper towels from the dispenser and began to lather them with the soapy suds of the cheap bathroom soaps. Without further ado he went to town on his left ass cheek, rubbing the brown towels against the material of his pants.

Oh God, if this stain didn't come out he didn't know what he'd do. These were his best (and only) suit pants. They'd cost a fortune and fit snugly against him without being too tight or too loose. He looked dynamite in these bad boys.

Alfred grit his teeth and began to scrub harder. After a minute he was brought out of his very important task with a surprised shout, nearly falling back onto the bathroom tiles. There, standing in one of the four stalls was Russia, his height making his head tower over the side of the door. He stood smiling down at the American whose heart was about to fall out of his throat before disappearing below the door for a moment, the sound of a toilet flushing echoing in the bathroom.

Alfred watched as Russia exited the stall and made for the sink one over from his own. Russia either didn't notice the perplexed and borderline horrified look Alfred was giving him or he didn't care, too engrossed in his own task of washing his hands.

"Dobraya Utrah for the second time again today, dear America. It is a pleasant surprise to find yourself using the facilities at the same time I am." Russia giggled, the sound sounding much more abnormal in the small little bathroom. God, Alfred wished that he had Russia's sense of humor. Then he'd laugh all day at things that weren't even mildly humorous, such as whatever Russia had just said about them both using the bathroom at once. It was disturbing, not pleasant.

"Yeah," slowly agreed Alfred, turning his attention back to the water in the sink. He was partway through soaking another towel when Russia turned his water off and paused. He looked considerately down at Alfred with patience that should've been greatly acknowledged.

"My, my. It appears to me that you have utilized all of the drying instruments that the lavatory has provided." Russia's gaze held a tiny blur of irritation over this, the proof floating towards the back of his violet eyes which were regarding Alfred with a serene sense of exasperation.

"Oh. Uh. Sorry…I guess," apologized Alfred feeling all the more awkward with Russia standing there, hands dripping wet with nothing to dry them on. In the blink of an eye, though, Russia's cheerfulness resumed as he straightened up.

"That is no problem. You cannot help your inability to think ahead for the possible inconveniences of others that your actions may cause. I will simply stand here and wait for my hands to dry," explained Russia. Alfred paused in his lathering and blinked up at the large nation who, if he hadn't misheard, was going to stand in the boy's bathroom and wait for his hands to dry…

…Seriously?

"Why don't you just wipe your hands on your pants?" Alfred suggested and wrung out the paper towel. He chanced a glance towards Russia and crinkled his nose. Russia did wear pants under that enormous trench coat…didn't he? Alfred took a cautious step away from him. He prayed to any heavenly being that Russia did wear pants.

Another giggle forced its way a little too eagerly from Russia's mouth. "You _would_ suggest such a thing, would you not America? Perhaps it is our varying intellect or our cultural differences, but in my homeland we do not conduct ourselves as such. It would be, how you say, _uncivilized_."

"…Okay. Cool," Alfred bit out and frowned back at his own sink. He didn't have to say it like that. He could have just said he didn't want to or that it could ruin his pants or something. But no, he had to say it in that roundabout way that Russia always talked. Alfred cut him a little slack for the last time, thinking that maybe perhaps possibly Russia just didn't know he'd said something rude. English was a hard language to understand and communicate. Perhaps something was 'lost in translation'.

Alfred went back to rubbing out the stain when after an eerie bout of silence he looked up. Russia was watching him with what seemed like childish intrigue. "What?" Alfred asked, albeit a little harshly. He didn't mean to, but something about Russia's eyes freaked him the fuck out.

The fair-haired man shook his head, his bangs fluttering lightly against his forehead as he did so. "It is nothing."

Alfred pursed his lips but didn't say anything, going back to his awkward bent position to see the part of his pants that was ruined. Again, silence besieged him and he had to look back again to see that Russia had not moved. "_What_?"

Russia's smile twitched upwards at the corners. "I do not wish to bother you," he said as if what he was doing wasn't bothering Alfred already.

Aw, what a saint looking out for his best interests like that.

"No, no. Don't worry yourself. Lay it on me," Alfred feigned a casual posture and straightened up. Russia tilted his head, arms still in front of him to dry.

"Well, if you insist. I was just overcome with sudden curiosity."

"Uh-huh. Why's that?" He already knew why. He was just going through the motions. Russia rocked back on his heels and pointed.

"Why is it that you are fondling your buttocks, comrade? This is a strange place to do such a thing, with company no doubt." Alfred tried not to recoil from that red pallor on Russia's cheeks that looked suspiciously like a blush. Instead, he steeled his gut and smiled that fake Hollywood smile he was so good at.

"I am not your comrade, if I have to correct you again. And I'm not '_fondling _my _buttocks'_. I'm getting something off my pants that I apparently sat in."

Russia blinked large eyes and leaned to the side, craning his neck around America's abdomen to get a look at the soaking material of his pant's attire. His mild perplexity morphed into amusement as he began to chuckle excitedly to himself.

"It is true. With the placement of that tarnish you look rather foolish, da?"

Alfred felt himself becoming even more annoyed with the situation. Russia's voice sounded like wind chimes in a hurricane, the high and airy noise piercing his eardrums with every chortle."No. No '_da_'. _No 'da', Russia_. It's irresponsible and a complete waste of my time and whoever it was who spilled this porridge or pudding or whatever the fuck this is should be the one in here scrubbing my ass till their fingers burn off to little nubs. I shouldn't have to walk around all day like this just because someone can't aim food properly into their mouth or buy a bib. And taking time out of my own schedule is – _It's not funny_!" he protested desperately when Russia's titters and giggles grew in numbers.

The Russian hid some of them behind one of his hands in a weak attempt to be civil. Alfred clenched his fists at his sides and felt his face heating up in anger. How rude could this nation be, so blatantly laughing at him? He deserved some restitution.

"I apologize," Russia managed to get out when he had calmed down much to Alfred's relief. "It is such a rare delight to see you in this state that I could not help myself." Alfred blinked stupidly at that. Delight? He frowned when he realized that he didn't think it was such a 'delight'.

"Yeah. It's a real hoot," muttered Alfred before begrudgingly going back to his pants and scrubbing.

"It was not my intention to upset you," Russia spoke up after a particularly long session of silence. Alfred was curious beyond all belief as to why Russia was still in the bathroom. His hands should have been long dry by now. Still, he decided to just ignore Russia for the moment. Maybe he would notice his mistake and vacate the area. "Pardon me if I had accidentally misjudged your tolerance to laugh at an unfortunate situation. I did not know you were so…_sensitive_."

Alfred bristled at that, ears catching on the smooth and slightly sensual way Russia had said 'sensitive'. He shook his head a balked. Not sensual. Definitely _not sensual_.

"I am _not_ sensitive," Alfred denied stubbornly.

"Oh?" The pitch in which Russia inquired sang of how unconvinced he was.

"_I'm not_. Besides, shouldn't you be moseying along now? It's lunch time and I can only assume that someone of your size needs to devour an entire heard of cattle before you're full." Alfred snorted and waved the Russian towards the door, looking thoroughly unamused and at his last limits to tolerate anyone's presence right now. He needed to focus and put in some real elbow grease if he wanted to get rid of the stain and dry his pants before the meeting resumed.

"A common misconception. I do not believe the size of a person's body constitutes how much they require to eat. Take your tiny figure for example. You are much smaller than I, yet you eat triple your body weight daily," Russia explained and wrapped his scarf around his now dry hands. He smiled helpfully as if Alfred was unaware of that information.

"Whatever."

Alfred growled to himself when he was running out of paper towels and he'd barely managed to lighten the brown spot. He threw the brown rag against the sink. "God dammit! What the fuck is this shit anyways?" He huffed and patted his bottom, the skin feeling soggy and sore from all of his efforts to rid himself of an unwanted color. Maybe if he just soaked them in the sink. That could work.

…But then someone could see him standing around in his underwear. Okay, never mind.

He could jump into a pool of diluted acid and wait for the stain to burn away!

…But then he could accidentally risk burning his skin too and have to wear bandages under his underwear and it would sound like he was wearing diapers which would confirm to people what the brown stain had actually been when it wasn't really something bathroom related entirely!

Augh. There went his best pants. A cough caught his attention when he looked up to see Russia towering over him, body proximity way in the 'No way, Jose' zone. Violet orbs looked him over in thought and Alfred forced himself not to run backwards. Yes, because there was a corner back there and like hell he would let Russia corner him in the men's room with a wet ass and mysterious brown streak on his bottom. His pride wouldn't be able to take it.

So instead he countered with, "You're still here?"

Russia just smiled in return. "You are having trouble with something so simple?" he questioned honestly. Alfred narrowed his eyes slightly with a bit of suspicion lingering on his tongue. There was just something in the way that Russia was watching him that made him feel uneasy.

"What's it to you?"

Russia shook his head and twined his fingers together. "Nothing of particular interest. I was just noticing that you are running out of time before you have to set foot in front of the whole world again and yet you have not completed the mission that has brought you into this restroom in the first place."

So now he was going to point that out? Hey, if anyone was aware of the stain on his ass, it was Alfred. He could practically feel it burrowing into his skin. It was an entity or something.

When all Alfred did was stare Russia leaned up and peeled his lips back from his teeth in the most gut wrenching, hair raising, nerve coiling smile known to man. It made a shiver travel painfully up Alfred's spine. "Allow me to assist you."

Russia.

Assist him?

As in putting force onto Alfred's body?

As in restraining him from moving too much?

As in people didn't know the two of them were together alone in some vacant bathroom on the east wing?

As in _touching his ass_…?

Alfred was against the back wall in half a nanosecond, eyes wide with disbelief and shaking from what was a combination of shock, dread, and the cold water against his skin. Russia cocked his head to the side with a cozy little smile and took a step forward. "What is wrong, America? You do not wish for my help?" There may or may not have been authenticity to his words, but Alfred was too in escape mode to care. He didn't care if Russia was doing this out of the good of his heart – if he _had_ a heart – or if he was doing this because he thought it was hi–_fuckin'_–larious and would get some sick thrill out of bending him over against his knee and rubbing at him like no tomorrow.

Really, it made no difference the motives behind his actions. Alfred just didn't want Russia anywhere near somewhere as sensitive and well guarded as any of his lower extremities.

"N-no. I'm goo – I'm good, bro. I can handle this myself," Alfred explained over a stuttering tongue. Why now did his body decide to betray him?

Russia blinked down at the suspicious American before smiling pleasantly to himself. "That is not what I have been witnessing. Please, allow me to assist you. I am not inept to removing spots from various materials," he informed and narrowed in on Alfred who was now sputtering and plastering himself against the wall. Blue eyes peered up to the window above his head cursing mentally at how high it was. Even a kangaroo couldn't jump up there.

"I don't want your assistance!" screamed Alfred in a completely justified panic when Russia lightly grabbed his arm to pull him closer. He dug his heels into the ground as the Russian dragged him over to the pile of wet paper towels by the sink, humming all along the way. With his free hand Russia added a lot more soap to the towel, so much so that it didn't even look brown anymore. Alfred's eyeballs practically bugged out of his sockets when Russia turned to him with blindingly glittery eyes.

"Can you hold this?"

Alfred was too focused on his breathing to hold onto a slimy wet ball of paper. It slipped and splat on the floor. Russia looked down at it, hand halfway into his coat before bending over and picking up the soapy towel. He leaned up to Alfred's eyelevel and smiled a counterfeit smile. "Please hold this. It will get filthy if you leave it on the floor."

He placed it into Alfred's palm as the American watched him with shaky suspicion as Russia dug around his coat. What was he even looking for? Was it some sort of rope to hold him down because it was _very _obvious that he was going to struggle or make a dash for the door? He paused. Wait, why wasn't he doing that right now while Russia was distracted with something that was totally spilling into his hands – Alfred jumped and dropped the towel again.

Russia stared and put the cork back on the small bottle he had removed from his coat and sighed through his nose. Bending over to pick up the wet rag, Russia placed it back in Alfred's palm with a strained smile. "You are not very good at following instructions, are you?"

"Wh…What did you put on this?" Alfred asked hesitantly, staring at where the clear liquid Russia had dispensed disappeared. He looked up just in time to see Russia readjusting his scarf with a cheerful disposition, the bottle gone back to where it had mysteriously come from.

"It is something special that was taught to me when I was but a small child by my precious sister. It comes in handy in the most uncalled for situations. You are lucky for this, America, for I do not even expect a 'thank you' in return."

Russia's explanation was vague enough to stifle the squirming in his stomach but not enough to make him place some unknown liquid against his only pair of good suit pants. He felt the wetness slide down his fingers and drip stray drops onto the floor, all the while Russia watched him in interest.

"Is something wrong?"

Without skipping a beat. "No."

Russia hummed in thought, unsure of what Alfred was saying. "If nothing is wrong then why are you not cleaning?"

Alfred frowned up at Russia, lips pulling back in anxiousness. "Will it ruin my pants?"

At this Russia had to giggle much to Alfred's chagrin. Why was everything so funny to this man? "Do not be so asinine, silly. I use this quite frequently on blood smears as well as other imperfections if you must know, and it does wonders."

Alfred narrowed his eyes slightly and shifted his feet. "…_Uh-huh_." He _so _didn't want to know why Russia needed to get rid of blood stains on a reoccurring basis. Instead he just grimaced and decided to take one for the team. It would be more humiliating to go back out there with brown all over himself. "If this burns a hole in my pants…" he faded off with his threat, letting Russia picture what would happen as opposed to voicing it.

Russia grinned. "I expect no such thing."

Awkwardly Alfred had started to apply Russia's weird concoction to the discoloration of his suit, not expecting anything in the slightest to change. And yet after nearly a minute the blemish was gone, shocking Alfred in disbelief. "What that heck?"

Russia clasped his hands together in excitement. "Oh my! It works." Yeah, like he had no clue that a liquid that miraculously pulled blood stains from clothing wouldn't work. Alfred could only stare with his back twisted at an awkward angle; his pants were now only soggy not brown. How long had Russia been hiding this from everyone? He could definitely patent an idea like that and make a fortune…not that he really needed it, what with being a nation and all.

He merely stared at how ecstatic Russia was looking at him, face alight with delight for Alfred's shock. Russia rocked back on his feet and placed his hands to his cheeks which seemed to look like Christmas tree lights much to Alfred's dismay. At least he couldn't feel as creeped out as he usually would. The shock was just masking over every emotion he ever possessed. One word repeated itself in his head as he composed himself.

Neato.

"Wow. It's. My. That's. _Wow_." Alfred breathed out a sigh of relief and smoothed down the wrinkles forming on the front of his pant legs. Speechless. Huh. That didn't happen very often. But then that feeling kicked in again – the one where he felt like dry heaving, you know – when he turned towards Russia again to see _that face._

He frowned and shifted uncomfortably. "Uh. Um. Thanks. I mean…yeah, thanks."

Russia smiled and seemed to preoccupy himself with the buttons on his coat. "Your appreciation is very gratifying, however, unnervingly embarrassing."

…Okaaaayy.

"Sorry," offered Alfred glancing around to anything but Russia. Six seconds went by before Russia resumed his poise, tall and slightly freakish as usual. His typical polite smile toyed at his lips as he regarded Alfred with tepid eyes.

"I am glad that I could be of some assistance at the moment. I do not usually go out of my way to aid imbeciles such as yourself. Perhaps that is because people similar to yourself are found in a multitude of unfortunate situations for which I have little patience for." Russia paused to chuckle at the unamused glower he was receiving before the exuberant spark returned to his eyes. "However, I have found this experience to be somewhat entertaining. Perchance I could help you with something else at the moment, such as drying your trousers?"

Nope nope nope nope nope never in a million billion to death do us part and then some years. Alfred was scurrying out the door before Russia could even begin to finish his sentence, a gust of air hitting the smiling nation and blowing his hair and scarf. The door slammed behind Alfred leaving Russia alone in the bathroom next to a pile of a soaking, soapy mess.

He had _not_, however, noticed a certain piece of paper fall from his pocket and land precariously next to one of the Russian's military issued boots.

Whoops.

Well, it was worth it. Either that or have the most awkward experience of his life in a bathroom. And he just couldn't do that now could he?

* * *

"What do you think, Mattie?"

"I don't know. They look good either way. Can you stop asking me that?"

Alfred pulled at his glasses some more, frowning and squinting at nothing when the lenses moved away from his eyes. He turned towards his brother once more and raised his eyebrows. "Does off look better?"

"Yes, sure. Okay now? You look fine with them off," Canada muttered with his palm to his cheek. He was beginning to get extremely bored with this conversation. It had been going on for fifteen minutes already.

"But on – I've always had them on for decades now. I think they look good on," Alfred second-guessed himself and slipped them back up his nose. He furrowed his brow and crinkled his nose. "But what about off?"

Canada mentally groaned and wondered if he could kill himself jumping out of the third story window in the conference hall. This was _agonizing_. "Very distinguished, Alfred. Keep them on."

"But–"

"Then take them off."

Alfred huffed and sulked, staring at the blurred image of his glasses in his hand. Man, was he in a conundrum. Of course he knew he was a stunningly handsome young fellow. Everybody knew that. But if there was a possibility that he could somehow enhance that stunning handsomeness then, well, there would be no point in not trying it. Yet Texas was such a big part of him (plus he had the eyes of a blind taxi driver in a dark cave a thousand feet below the earth's surface) and he wasn't so sure if he felt comfortable just removing them.

…Damn that letter and people's silent observations. That's all they should have been; _silent_.

"You're no help."

Canada sighed at the whine in his brother's voice. Of course he would turn this around to complain about his assistance towards his current glasses dilemma. He'd always been able to have the ability to do that. "Then why did you ask me?"

Alfred sank further in his seat and peered at what he thought was his Canadian twin's big fat blurry head. "Because I need to figure this out."

Canada quirked his eyebrow in confusion, opening his mouth as if to ask something, when he stopped and stilled, looking up at a particularly irritated nation making his way towards them. He sat up straight and pulled his mouth into a thin line. England walked right past him to rest in front of Alfred. The American blinked up towards the green outline of a nation and was about to ask his brother who it was when he recognized those two plank sized fuzz balls atop the face.

England.

"Hey Arthur."

"Don't try to charm me with your smooth American accent," the Briton scowled much to Alfred's surprise. He placed his glasses back on and cringed at the picture painted before him. England didn't look particularly thrilled. He had his arms crossed and was frowning in a way that only made Alfred want to buy him a gift card for a facelift. England continued without even batting an eyelash. "What are you doing back here? If I recall correctly, and I do, the second half to your very questionable presentation was supposed to have started ten minutes ago."

Alfred tried to smile at the man but it didn't come off as smug as he'd have wished. This whole glasses predicament was bothering him too much he guessed. Placing his foot over the impatient tapping of England's pristine black shoe and ignoring the deepening of his scowl as he did that, Alfred leaned back in his chair.

"We're brainstorming."

England narrowed his eyes and raised and impressive eyebrow. "We?"

"Yeah. Me and Mattie here," said Alfred and motioned to his brother sitting beside him. England's sharp eyes followed his arm and the scowl shrank back into a mild frown of surprise. Canada returned his look with a dainty, half-hearted smile. After all, he was used to being forgotten.

"Oh. Matthew. I apologize, I didn't seem to notice you right away," England mentioned and let his posture somewhat relax. Canada nodded and began petting the bear in his arms when England's attention turned back to Alfred. "What, pray tell, are you brainstorming?"

"It's a secret," Alfred replied with a grin. England grimaced at the display before pulling his foot out from under the younger nation's.

"Be that as it may, we do not want to sit around and wait for your 'grand entrance'. Be a courteous host and resume this sad excuse for a summit." With that England turned around and started to make his way back towards the doors. Alfred watched his back with a lingering gaze before speaking up.

"Hey, Arthur!"

The Englishman paused, his fingers already gripping the door handle. He peered over his shoulder towards Alfred who had removed his glasses yet again. "What do you think? Do they look better on or off?" The sincerity of the question threw England off guard for a moment as his eyes wandered around the American's face briefly. He shook his head and opened the doors.

"Does it matter? You look like an utter fool either way. Hurry up if you would."

Alfred watched as the blur that was England was engulfed behind the doors before being left alone with Canada once more. He blinked down towards the Canadian who mirrored his gaze just as easily. "I think he liked them off."

"Oh, Alfred…"Canada groaned and placed his face in his palm. It shouldn't have mattered either way. Alfred still couldn't see with them off.

* * *

Ivan sat with great amusement in his seat, hand scribbling down various ideas that he deemed important. Heaven knew that whatever America had been spewing in his blind state didn't matter to him or his country one bit. His smile broadened as he resumed the Russian lullaby he was singing barely audible under his breath. How adorable America was. Ivan wondered slightly to himself if the blonde intended to act in such a way purposefully or if it just came natural to him and his oblivious mind.

It didn't matter one way or the other, really. Ivan was still pleased at the end of the day.

Had he known that America would respond so easily to his charming little letters, he would have sent them out years ago. Ah, but it had taken up all of his ability to send the letters, let alone sign them. That was out of the question. He looked up with a giggle as Alfred had misjudged the distance from the table and fell haphazardly into Germany's lap. What an awkward scene.

His pen movements resumed in their languid strokes on a neatly bought parchment of paper. How else could he express himself towards America? What could he say…?

A particularly loud yell rubbed against his ears as a minor argument broke out between America, Germany, Poland, and England, all of them in the same vicinity of the accident. England was helping Germany push America off of him with a glower, his voice sounding like nails on a chalkboard to Ivan.

He watched the small ordeal in mild intrigue before honing in on this excited feeling bubbling in his chest as he gazed towards the fiery Briton. He began to write a new letter, this time in a particularly lighthearted manner.

This game with America was fun, yes. But what could happen if he raised the number of players?

Would that bring more lively moments and emotions out from the American?

Ivan shuddered. The naïve glutton was becoming like a grain of sand under a clam's shell. He was an simply an itch that he could not scratch.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Another chapter… How strange. I thought and thought and thought but couldn't manage to come up with how this was going to go down. So then I had another thought that said, hello, you should procrastinate, yes, that sounds like a lovely idea. Then I won't have to think for this story. But then I noticed that, what an enticing surprise, people were reviewing with great support for reasons I cannot grasp. And so I felt bad and scurried back over to the computer and typed with a little more enthusiasm than I usually have, which is close to zero.

But I got this done after nearly half a year! Strange. Perhaps it should've been my New Year's resolution to update more?

Anyway, so thank you all for reviewing, as I have probably said in all of my replies, and which I will probably _continue_ to say in the replies to come. I do appreciate it and it warms my heart like an early fire on a rainy winter day. Please enjoy this chapter because I enjoyed writing it for you (even though it took forever to get written and posted).

* * *

Well. If there was anything Alfred could say about his hosting of the World Conference, it would be that he was practically falling on his knees in a giddy fit of tingles that it was finally on its last day. He didn't know how much more he'd be able to take of people arguing, various complaints to his complaint box (which people weren't getting the memo to because it was his garbage can), the constant stress of waking up early, and most of all, those blasted letters.

Letters letters lovely horrible letters.

He hated those letters. Yes, Alfred had decided that the bad and creepiness in those letters outweighed the oddly flattering compliments. And if it wasn't just how bad the letters were, it was the fact that they were flooding his mail cubby every hour on the hour.

From "your teeth look very white today, but you have manners that could rival a three year old," to "your laughter brightens my day and warms my heart, however, you eat like a starved warthog stop gaining weight." It was reasonable why Alfred would be shaking every nation's hand as they exited with a large smile, wasn't it?

"Have a good night. Don't let your plane crash. I enjoyed having you here as much as you enjoyed listening to me," Alfred grinned, shaking Romano's hand enthusiastically.

The Italian wretched his hand away with a scowl as Alfred continued to smile that ridiculously bright smile at him. For God's sake, he needed sunglasses against such pearly whites or something!

"I doubt that. And don't touch me!" he growled and stormed out of the room after his brother. Alfred laughed it off and turned to shake the next person in line's hand before he stopped, blinking at the face in front of him.

"Howdy, Arthur," he greeted.

England raised an eyebrow indifferently and tucked his briefcase under his arm. "Hello, Alfred." He waited patiently as the American just stared at him. "Well aren't you going to shake my hand and all that rubbish you just put the people in front of me through?"

Alfred snapped out of his paused reverie and smiled, clasping England's hand in both of his own. "Sure thing! You be safe now. I know how much trouble you can get into in the last twelve hours before going home."

"Yes, I'm a real _rebel without a cause_," England muttered dully and shook Alfred's hands away after a fifteen second handshake. "Have a good evening," he said, walking past Alfred with a sense of exhausted ease. Alfred let his eyes follow after him, letting them linger on England's back, before he called out.

"Hey, you wanna get a drink or something later?"

England stopped in his tracks, shifting his body to look back at Alfred in confusion. "Pardon?"

"You know, knock back a few brewskies. I know it's your favorite past time," Alfred joked.

"Hardly. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to decline your offer. I have a lot to do before my flight tomorrow morning," England explained, wanting nothing more than to finish up his notes before sliding into bed.

"Aw, come on! Live a little. It's one night. Besides, we haven't drank together in years!" Alfred stuck his arm out when Taiwan and Korea tried to sneak out of the room before getting their handshakes. They groaned and waited impatiently for Alfred to hurry and let them leave. It was getting late and they had to be up early.

England sighed and rubbed the crease between his eyebrows before turning away. "… I'll see what I can do."

"Great. You know the place. We used to go there whenever you'd visit. See you there at eight!" Alfred exclaimed excitedly. England continued walking down the hallway, waving back to Alfred without turning around. As he drifted out of sight, Alfred was brought back to his senses by an, "ahem."

"Korea, you crazy devil! How've you been? Your brother's still a pain in the ass, huh?" Alfred laughed and shook the Asian's hand. "Have a great night. Thanks for coming."

As the line shortened, people dwindling as Alfred let them out, he began to quicken his pace. He had to be at the bar in twenty minutes if he wanted a good seat. Plus he really needed to get off of his feet. His dogs were barking. When he finished shaking Australia's hand, he had to groan in the back of his head.

Craning his neck, Alfred looked directly up at Russia who smiled the sweetest, honey coated smile at him.

"I think I just got a cavity," Alfred muttered to himself.

"What was that, dear America?" Russia asked politely. Alfred shook his head before smiling as best he could.

"Nothing, nothing. Just saying how nice it was to see you show up this year," Alfred said and stuck his hand out to shake Russia's. The larger nation looked at it curiously, much like a child eyeing a brand new goldfish that their parent's bought that afternoon, before his smile hiked higher up his face, his large hand nearly breaking every bone in Alfred's as he shook it enthusiastically.

"How silly you are. I attend every conference, of course. It is a requirement, or has your tiny brain already forgotten?"

Alfred winced and slid his hand away, it looking awfully crippled as strained laughter was forced from his lips. "Clever guy, aren't you. Have a nice night."

"You as well, comrade," Russia nodded, not noticing (or not caring about) the grimace that flashed across Alfred's face at being called his comrade. Russia continued walking down the hallway, his knee-high military boots clacking against the tiles, before he stopped. Russia turned around to see Alfred locking up the conference doors before he tilted his head and walked back the way he came.

"Something has just occurred to me," said Russia. Alfred flinched upon hearing the voice of the person who was supposed to be going back to his hotel room to sleep in his icebox already.

"Oh yeah? And what could that be?" he asked, stuffing the keys into his pocket and strolling past the tall Russian. To his dismay, he was followed.

"If I am correct, you have just wished for me to have a nice night, da?" Alfred remained silent as he made his way towards the elevator. Then again, maybe he should take the stairs. He didn't know what would happen with being in a small, enclosed box with Russia. "And in response, I mechanically wished you one as well."

"… What's your point?"

Russia giggled into his scarf. "Well you see I made a mistake in doing so, for you will not being having a nice night at the moment. You will be partaking in alcoholic beverages for a hefty sum of hours which will postpone your night."

Alfred pressed insistently at the elevator button. Yes, elevator was better. Stairway was too risky. He could easily get thrown down a flight or two, or accidentally 'trip.'

"The phrase 'have a nice night' still applies even if someone's going out to do something later. It's still nighttime," Alfred informed, stepping into the elevator. He jumped, eyes shooting nervously to Russia as he stepped inside as well. Good God, he could swear that he heard a cable snap under Russia's added weight.

"But your night will not be nice. You will be intoxicated."

"That sounds like a pretty nice night to me," Alfred muttered under his breath and tapped his foot anxiously against the floor of the elevator as it started to move. The elevator became silent as Alfred counted down the seconds as to when he would be released when Russia had to go and open his big, fat mouth again, this time saying something that shot his stomach into his skull.

"I would like to postpone my night as well and go out ingesting alcoholic beverages with you and Mister England." Russia looked in amusement over at Alfred would choked on air itself. His cheeks became rosy as Alfred gripped at his throat and looked at him with the funniest expression Russia had ever seen.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but– actually… I don't care how you take this. Hell no," Alfred said, shaking his head.

Russia smiled. "I think it would be an interesting experience."

"Or, like, a really bad one. No means no. You can't come." With that, the door chimed and opened, Alfred quickly making his way across the lobby.

"It is a free country, or so I have been told."

Alfred shrieked, clasping at his heart and looking at Russia in surprise. Could that big guy walk like the dead or what? It was frightening knowing someone as large as Russia could easily sneak up on someone like the United States of America.

"I said no. Invite only." Alfred turned and started to walk towards the exit of the building when he felt a chill down his spine when air as cold as a blizzard trickled up the back of his neck. He glanced up and over his shoulder briefly to see Russia standing much closer, smile still resting on his lips in a strange manner as he regarded the American curiously.

"That is an easy fix, for all you must do is say the fateful words, 'Russia will you please be my guest and become inebriated with me tonight?'."

It really was weird how Russia thought that that was a normal way to ask if he could come drinking. Alfred raised an eyebrow, lips pursing upon seeing how genuine Russia was. Would you look at that. He didn't even see how weird it was to say that.

"I think it's best if I don't," Alfred muttered quickly, nearing the doors. He reached out to take the handle when fingers sunk down into his shoulder muscle, the pressure distinct and heavy, like five little snakes rooting into his body. All movement stopped.

Russia leaned down due to his great height and grinned at the blonde who stood stiff with wide eyes and tensed everything. "I disagree."

Alfred could only stare in disbelief at the giant who was grasping his shoulder like grim death and wearing a tight little smile on his thin lips like nothing was abnormal about this situation. No matter how scary or intimidating or scary or forceful – did he mention scary? – Russia could be, Alfred wouldn't back down. As far as he was concerned, he was just dealing with a child who was going to throw a tantrum for not getting his way.

Alfred took a small breath, letting his eyes run over Russia's form and smelling tendrils of alcohol already spewing from his uniform and coat (which was disturbing in and of itself) as he furrowed his brow.

… And yet no matter how large and muscular this child could be, no still meant no.

He didn't get to spend much time with England alone. It was always 'I'm busy' this, or 'act like an adult for once' that. And now that it had been so long to just sit back and chill with that scraggly Briton, Alfred was going to take this opportunity by the reins and not let anything ruin it.

And by anything that meant Russia.

* * *

"My, what a dirty establishment. Is it safe to assume that all of these people were the dirty and huddled masses you were referring to?" Russia peered down with eyes lit with excitement in the dark bar. The soft buzz of a baseball game could barely be heard behind the bar counter as all of the drunk and loud patrons made a racket from every corner of the bar. Sure, they weren't the prime example of Americans that Alfred would want to advertise, and they may have smelled a bit, and they possibly had fleas and not all of their teeth and had something to do with the questionable stains on the floor…

Where was he going with this again?

Alfred looked away, cheek in his palm as he lightly swirled his index finger around the rim of his glass. He couldn't _believe _he had given in and came to the bar with Russia.

_What happened to standing your ground, Alfred? Huh? What happened to no means no?_ He grumbled to himself, peeking out of the corner of his eye to see Russia swiveling on his bar stool back and forth somewhat, childish delight shining from his eyes as he looked around. Alfred paused and loosened up for a moment, watching Russia smile at a couple of guys across the bar. Suddenly one smashed the other's face in, blood spewing out of his now broken nose as he fell to the ground, the other man jumping on top of the unconscious man and trying to continue to beat him as his friends tried to hold him back. Russia outwardly laughed, deeply amused at the situation.

_Oh, right. The whole unpredictable strength thing…_

Alfred sighed and took a large gulp of his beer, shaking his head quickly at the burn going down. He peeled back his sleeve with a frown and looked at his watch again.

An hour and a half.

He sighed again, rubbing at his eyes behind his glasses. England still wasn't here. What happened to everything about being on time and proper?

"Why so glum, dear America?" Russia's voice rung through Alfred's ears as the bored and somewhat upset looking American shot him a pout. "You should not be frowning in a place such as this. It is the happiest place on earth!" announced Russia, yet over his shoulder the bloodied unconscious man was being dragged away from his screaming attacker who was being restrained, curses and threats flying from his lips.

"Uh, I think you have that confused with Disneyland," Alfred said with a raised eyebrow.

Russia didn't even bat an eyelash. "I do believe you are wrong about that."

Alfred watched as Russia easily tipped back his entire glass, Adam's apple bobbing as the frothy liquid emptied down his esophagus and into that abysmal blackness inside of him. The tall nation licked the corner of his lips and set his glass down, tilting his head in confusion at that astounded look on Alfred's face.

"Dude." He couldn't say anything else. That was some strong-ass alcohol and that giant didn't even flinch as he downed it all in one gulp!

"Why do you look at me like that?" Russia asked with a giggle, completely unaffected by his large alcohol consumption for the night. Violet eyes hesitated before they glanced away, Russia's gloved hands resting on his warming cheeks at the incredulous scowl on Alfred's face. "Is there perhaps something on my face?"

Oh, why was Alfred looking at him like that? It was so _embarrassing_!

Shaking his head in disbelief, Alfred turned back to his own full glass, waiting as patiently as he could for England to arrive and take him away from Russia's _oh so pleasant_ company. He sighed heavily once more, twirling his finger dejectedly around the glass.

"You are wasteful."

Alfred felt his lip twitching downward in annoyance, though he continued to stare at his beer. "What makes you say that, _pal_?" he echoed back sarcastically, unaware at how Russia perked up in interest upon the friendly nickname.

"You have not finished even one glass. Perhaps you are, how you say, a lightweight."

Alfred shot Russia a glare as the older nation laughed in amusement.

"I am _not_ a lightweight," he denied. Alfred bristled when Russia continued to give him that unconvinced look. Oh, how Alfred hated that look. "I'm NOT!"

As if to prove a point – which was completely stupid to begin with, because he wasn't like those spring breakers on the television anymore – Alfred gripped his glass with a defiant scowl and tossed back his own drink, coughing slightly when some beer went down the wrong pipe. After a couple of seconds the glass was empty, Alfred sticking his chin up confidently as he caught his breath, wiping some liquid off of his chin.

Russia feigned an impressed expression, humoring Alfred enough to make the young American smirk at him, as if to say, "so ha!"

"That is nothing."

Alfred blinked curiously at Russia as he shooed the bartender away from refilling his glass. He didn't want anymore.

"What's nothing? That? That wasn't nothing! That was _everything_! I did exactly what you did," Alfred protested in annoyance when Russia didn't pay the blonde any attention, too busy shifting around something inside of his coat. He pulled out a bottle as big as a bowling pin, gently unscrewing the cap and pouring some clear liquid into two shot glasses.

"It is not the same, foolish American. You cannot compare drinking absinthe to drinking beer. Is your reason in that tiny brain of yours already becoming foggy with that one glass?"

Alfred didn't say anything as he stared incredulously at the shot glass steered his way. He glanced back up to Russia who held his in a toast.

"Real men drink fairly."

As Russia easily added whatever that was to his list of drinks he'd already had, Alfred cautiously held the glass up to his nose before he recoiled with a grimace. Fuck, was that some strong vodka. "This shit's nasty."

"It is what real men drink."

"It's what puts people in the hospital. I think you just poured some bleach in a glass," Alfred disagreed and pushed it away. Russia observed quietly, pouring himself another shot, before his eyes twinkled and he set the bottle down. He leaned over to Alfred who jumped in surprise at how close they were (truly looking too comical for words with that deer in the headlights expression), and patted at the young nation's chest lightly.

"Do not be afraid, little one. It is only 85 per cent concentrated. It will put hair on your chest, which you really do need."

Russia chortled to himself, moving back after he dared to pinch one of Alfred's pudgy cheeks, barely evading the hand that violently smacked him away. Alfred seethed, cheeks and ears painting red all the while.

"One drink. Just one and then I'm done." Alfred held the glass in annoyance and eyed Russia with irritation.

The Russian male leaned back into his seat with a long and thin smile, eyelids lowering in dubious amusement as he watched the American gag and cough when the beverage went down his throat.

"That is all I ask."

* * *

"Are you alive?" Ivan asked, though his voice carried little concern as he craned his neck to peer at the gurgling blonde whose face rested in the crook of his arms. He leaned closer, pale bangs fluttering in front of his face as he tried to get a better look at the bespectacled boy. America's face was obscured from his vision, though Ivan could see how pink his skin was even in the poor lighting. He let his gloved fingers brush curiously over America's bangs before an incoherent groan of annoyance came muffled beneath the arms, America slapping at him and missing.

America slumped and began to drool, becoming motionless after he mumbled something about peanuts.

Russia leaned back up and buried his chin in his scarf with a thoughtful stare. "Oh dear."

The large nation let out a long exhale through his long nostrils, looking around the near empty tavern in boredom, interest already lost in the unresponsive man to his left.

It had been five hours since he and America had walked into the bar, the place once alive with delightful fighting and cursing and excitement. Russia frowned to himself at how dull it was now, no movement or voices, merely just stains of blood on the floor and the smell of vomit in the air.

Still, what a lovely sight. And he had dear America here to share it with him!

He was positive that that warmth in his system wasn't solely from the alcohol. Oh, it made him nearly blush. How indecent!

Ivan smiled to himself, swaying somewhat from his own alcohol consumption for the night. He briskly grabbed America's arm, the blonde not protesting or even moving, as Ivan carelessly peeled back his jacket sleeve enough to see his watch.

It was rather late, even for his terms. He really should be leaving. After all, there was a flight to catch in the morning. He needed to be in Beijing in the morning for some business.

Stepping off of his stool, Ivan began to rifle around his coat looking for his wallet. He pulled out some bills and began to place them against the countertop when America made a strange noise and his head slipped further into the junction of his arms, his glasses pushing up into his hair and messing it up in a humorous manner.

Russia would have fixed it had he not thought America's reaction to his disheveled appearance would be laughable.

The naïve man had taken to his bait to drink so easily. Who said you could lead a horse to water but couldn't make it drink? Surely that person had never met America before.

And yet maybe making America drink wasn't such a good idea. After his fourth shot the blonde had started to start talking. A LOT. And he wouldn't shut up no matter how Ivan asked or demanded or threatened. He would simply laugh or yell or some odd combination of both.

Every little word from his mouth had been _England England blah blah I'm an irritating doofus England_.

It was a bit funny, actually. He complained about how he was a jerk for standing him up, and how he was going to get him back by filling his shoes with horse manure or something of the equivalent. Ivan had grinned then, offering to help him. America had shook his head and grinned mischievously back - a grin that made an excited chill travel up Ivan's spine – telling him that no one was to know about this, not even that bastard Russia.

"Oh?" Ivan had said, raising an eyebrow curiously, humoring the drunken American. "And why would Russia be a problem with this _ingenuous _plan?"

America had thrown his head back and laughed. "That l-lummox couldn't pull a prank to slave- to save his life!"

Ivan had smiled knowingly to himself, thinking of the letter in his coat pocket all the while. "Is that right?"

"Yes, it's is right."

Ivan had rolled his eyes with an amused smile, spinning his nearly empty bottle of vodka. "I do believe you are in for a little treat then, Dorogoy _Amerika_," he said, accent dipping in at the last second, thick and clumped together by his native tongue.

America had snorted then and tossed back his shot. "Haha, yeah. I probably am!"

America abruptly lurched forward and had vomited right into Ivan's lap.

Ivan blinked and looked away from the drunken man beside him, frowning in annoyance to himself. He made a mental note to keep America away from real liquor next time. The childish blonde could stick to his pansy drinks as he pleased.

"Thank you for the lovely night, comrade. I cannot wait to do it again soon," Ivan announced pleasantly, though America made no movement or acknowledgment. Ivan thought for a moment if he should pay his tab as well, but decided against it. It would be much more fun this way.

As Ivan began to vacate the bar, he took one last moment to bend over America and peel his arm back, fingers splaying across America's palm to open it and slip inside a small envelope with a lone purple heart attached to the back.

With a smile and a pivot of his feet, Ivan took his leave, though making sure to take note of the soft snores America emitted as his fingers curled briefly over Ivan's, holding the note tightly in his hand.

Ivan ran his own fingers over the hand that had placed the letter down. He stared at them with a quiet sense of fondness before shutting his eyes and holding it up to his lips to breathe warmth onto it.

Surely this warmth wasn't solely from alcohol.

* * *

"I hate him I hate him hate hate-_ fuck_, I hate him!" Alfred growled, too hung-over to yell it. And boy howdy did he want to yell it. He wasn't even sure who he was referring too, but he knew someone else had to be to blame for this hangover. He never drank this hard by himself. "Stupid headache. Stupid sunlight. Stupid, stupid… ow. Goooosh, my head hurts!" he whined, digging his palms into his eyes as he stumbled down the street.

Everyone looked primped and proper and totally not wobbling out of a bar at eight in the morning looking like they'd been mauled by a pack of raccoons.

He honestly couldn't remember the shameful night before. Alfred ran his tongue over his teeth, grimacing at the sour aftertaste in his mouth. Was it a good night if he couldn't remember any of it? Usually those were good nights, but something was nagging at the back of his head to think otherwise.

He remembered ending the conference, because it was such a huge relief to end that stupid thing already.

And he remembered inviting England to the bar for a few drinks. But did he show up? Alfred ruffled his hair, nearly tripping over his own two feet. He couldn't remember.

Everything after that was sort of a blur, with a few exceptions of faces.

Alfred grumbled, mentally swearing off liquor forever, before he fiddled with the crumpled note in his hand. Blue eyes carefully glanced down at the ugly piece of paper. He had just woken up and found it next to his face. He furrowed his brow and wondered how it had gotten there.

* * *

_America,_

_I am secretly very thrilled that it was your turn to host this World Summit this very month. Though you may be a moron who shouldn't even be allowed near anything political with a fifty foot pole, I am pleased whenever words come out of your mouth. I do not particularly listen to what you say, but you do have a lovely voice. I cannot wait to see you again next month. Please do not cause any more problems until then, although that may be hard for a simpleton like yourself._

_Sincerely, _

_Departing_

_Ps- I also apologize for the abrupt departure. I could not stay to deliver this for I had business elsewhere in Beijing. I hope you do not take any offense to that. Maybe someday you will know what it is like to have the responsibilities of an adult.

* * *

_

Alfred stared at the letter a long while, shaking his head in disbelief. Who the fuck was this anyway?

After arriving at his house, taking a shower, having a long nap, and eating dinner, Alfred began to click around his television. He took a bite of the oatmeal he had thrown together and perked up when hearing his answering machine beep. Twisting around awkwardly on his couch, Alfred swallowed the large mouthful and set his bowl down, maneuvering to hit the little red button.

"_You have two new messages. First new message_."

It was from Canada.

"_Hey, Alfred… It's me… Your brother…_" There was a sigh. "_Canada. I just wanted to call and ask if you got my package yet. I sent it before the conference so it should be there by now. I honestly don't know why you insist on eating so much maple syrup. It's not healthy… though I shouldn't be the one to talk… Um. Just- yeah. Call me back if you got it._"

Alfred gasped in excitement. Finally! He tried to have monster pancake Thursday last week and had no more of his brother's famous syrup. "It's here!" he shouted, darting down his hallway and making for his porch where a package was surely waiting. Oh, how unobservant he was when he was hung-over!

As Alfred eagerly beamed and started bringing the large box in, darting past his answering machine to open the taped parcel in the kitchen, another message continued, going unnoticed to preoccupied ears.

"_Hello, Alfred. It's Arthur… How do I go about this anyway? I'm not good at these sorts of things…_" He sighed and cleared his throat. "_I want to apologize for leaving so abruptly. I know you wanted to spend more time together, but I had a non-refundable ticket and business to attend to in China at the moment._" There was a long pause. "_I will make it up to you next time. That will be sufficient, won't it?... Good. Good. I look forward to it. You- you keep well, alright, Alfred?_"

The machine clicked off with a beep, nothing but the sight of a blinking red light on the telephone and a crumpled up piece of paper beside it on the coffee table.

* * *

A/N: What is Russia planning? Of course it will be a fun game. :) But you will have to wait patiently until the next update in months and months!


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